


Opening Gambit

by fhsa_archivist



Category: X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-03-16
Updated: 2005-03-16
Packaged: 2019-02-05 18:59:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12800313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fhsa_archivist/pseuds/fhsa_archivist
Summary: "I knew he'd been following me, observing my behavior. Quietly and unobtrusively, yes, but still, he was watching me. At meals, during danger room sessions, early, late, here, there - everywhere I went, there was Angel."





	Opening Gambit

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Haven, the archivist: This story was originally archived at [Fandom Haven Story Archive (FHSA)](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Fandom_Haven_Story_Archive), was scheduled to shut down at the end of 2016. To preserve the archive, I began working with the OTW to transfer the stories to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2017. If you are this creator and the work hasn't transferred to your AO3 account, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Fandom Haven Story Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/fhsa/profile).

Sultry was only word I could think of to describe the atmosphere that evening. The air was heavy with heat and humidity and all was quiet down there beneath the ancient willow tree. I'd brought a sheet to lie upon and I was just relaxing, letting my mind wander. I slowly drifted into the past. Memories of days gone by, of that summer I spent with Philippe, brought a sense of aching nostalgia. 

 

As a teenager, I'd tried to follow the crowd, romancing and screwing women whenever the opportunity arose. But a vague sense of dissatisfaction descended after each encounter, so eventually I decided that sex just wasn't for me and faced the fact that I'd never know the sensual experiences my friends enjoyed so. Great sex, it seemed, wouldn't be a part of my life. 

 

Then Philippe happened. 

 

The very first time I met him, a chill of excitement shivered down my spine. To this day I have no actual memory of that conversation. Entranced by his beauty, brilliant blue eyes, silky blond hair, and his lean, tanned body, his actual words slipped right past me. 

 

Our friendship grew quickly, and soon we were spending as much time together as we could manage. Between my lessons in thievery and Philippe's work on his family's shrimp boat, we had few chances to meet. But we did have a standing 'date' at a well-hidden swimming hole twice each week. 

 

We talked of the things boys do, we played in the water, and we lay side by side on the bank of the pond, speaking in hushed tones about possibilities of life. 

 

Then, one night, he leaned over and kissed me. Somewhere inside, I must have known this would happen, that this was what I wanted, that this was what had I been missing - that this way would be perfect and right. 

 

Throughout the rest of that summer, we explored our love, learning from each other and sharing closeness I'd never known before. I truly thought we'd be together forever. 

 

But, life being life, it ended, abruptly and horribly. There came a night when he didn't meet me at the appointed time. The next day I learned that the shrimp boat had gone down, leaving no survivors. 

 

No survivors. 

 

At first, I had hope that somehow he'd find his way back to me. As the weeks passed, that hope became anger. Anger at him for leaving me. Anger at God for taking him from me. Anger at fate for destroying my life. 

I was so very lonely. Philippe and I had become so close, so quickly, that I just didn't know what to do with myself. Insanity became more and more of a possibility. At the edge of my peripheral vision, I'd see him standing there, watching me. When someone made a funny comment, I'd hear his laughter echoing in my head. My dreams were filled with him, I can't even begin to count the number of times I'd waken with his name on my lips, my arm outstretched to touch him. 

 

With each job, I became more reckless, daring God to take me, too. All I wanted, all I desired, was to be with Philippe once again. Péré and Tante grew increasingly worried and tried to talk some sense into my addled brain. I listened politely, nodded, and ignored everything they'd said. 

 

Then the numbness set in. It was such a relief not to feel that pain, that anger, that sadness. I married Belladonna at Péré's request. When that all went wrong, I accepted my banishment without complaint. I drifted aimlessly from place to place, not caring where I was or why. 

 

When my powers spiraled out of control, threatening to destroy what little sanity remained within me, Sinister appeared. I accepted his offer of help carelessly, never once worrying about what the man might want in return. 

 

During my time with Sinister I found, to my deep dismay, the lovely numbness was slowly wearing off. The knowledge that Philippe would have been disappointed in me crept into my mind, followed by a restless desire to be somewhere - anywhere - else. When Sinister offered to release me - after doing one last job for him - I jumped at the chance. I recruited the Marauders for him, and arranged a meeting with the Morlocks. 

 

And, didn't that go well! 

 

In the aftermath, I spent several weeks in one of my bolt holes recovering from my wounds. I then drank and fucked my way across several continents trying to banish the visions of what I'd done from my mind. It didn't work, of course. When I eventually accepted that I would never be able to run far enough, drink enough, or fuck enough anonymous bodies, I withdrew into myself. Still traveling, still restless, I kept moving, supporting myself by stealing and gambling. Funnily, I found that the less I drank, the less I wanted to fuck. Left with little entertainment, I resigned myself to a solitary, sober life of celibacy. 

 

Such was my life when I met Stormy and allowed myself to join the X Men. 

 

When I retreated to this quiet spot, I could almost hear Philippe's voice murmuring soft encouragement and approval into my ear. 

 

So lost in memory was I, that Angel managed to approach me without setting off any of my internal alarms. 

 

Not that I was surprised to see him. I'd been expecting something like this for quite a while, ever since I returned from Antarctica. I knew he'd been following me, observing my behavior. Quietly and unobtrusively, yes, but still, he was watching me. At meals, during danger room sessions, early, late, here, there - everywhere I went, there was Angel. 

 

At first, I'd felt his distrust, his animosity towards me. Can't say as I blamed the man, not after what he'd discovered about me during that god-bedamned trial. Gradually, though, the menace faded, replaced by a weird kind of bemused confusion. Once or twice, I even got the impression that he was curious about me. 

 

Of course, I hadn't the foggiest idea what to make of the situation. We'd never really been what you'd call close. Teammates, sure, but nothing beyond that. When I realized that he was watching me, I thought he was just marking time, waiting until he could catch me off balance and exact his revenge. 

 

In the midst of Ange's confusing behavior, Wolverine, who'd proven to be one of the only X Men to *not* judge me, joined me one night as I sat outside enjoying a smoke. He settled at the opposite end of the porch swing and lit a cigar. 

 

After looking around, peering into shadows and sniffing the air thoroughly, he grunted in apparent satisfaction and spoke, "How'd ya manage ta lose yer shadow, kid?" 

 

Confused, I frowned. "Eh?" 

 

"Yer shadow," he repeated impatiently. "Worthington." 

 

"Y' noticed?" 

 

"Him following ya? Watching yer every move? 'Course." 

 

I wondered for a moment if any of the others had picked up on Ange's strange behavior. I hadn't seen anyone paying any more attention to either of us than was usual, so I assumed not. On the other hand... "Anyone else notice anything unusual?" 

 

He snorted. "Yer kidding, right?" 

 

True. Entirely too true for comfort. All of my so-called teammates seemed to go out of their way to ignore me. None of them had taken any particular interest in me before Antarctica, but after... Merde! I might as well have been invisible when I returned to the mansion. Logan was the only one to show any signs of noticing me. 

 

"Y' got any idea what the homme wants with m', Wolvie?" 

 

"Yep," he answered readily. "Sure do." 

 

"Care to share?" 

 

He puffed at his cigar a couple of times, watching me from the corner of his eye. Frowned. Scratched the back of his neck. Then - and this was kinda chilling - he grinned and slowly shook his head. "Nope. Ya'll find out soon enough, Gumbo." 

 

"Y' tease like a woman." 

 

He snorted at that. 

 

"Smartass," I grumbled. 

 

"He ain't out ta hurt ya, kid. I'll tell ya that much." 

 

With that, Logan rose from the seat and ambled towards the nearby woods. 

 

"Con!" I muttered under my breath, watching his departing figure through narrowed eyes. 

 

"I heard that, Cajun." 

 

"Meant y' to." 

 

He snorted again. 

 

Sighing, I decided to be thankful for the little he'd actually said. It was probably much more than I should have expected. At least I could take comfort, however small, in the fact that Wolverine sensed no immediate danger. That he would have told me, I'm sure. For whatever reasons, Logan had developed an odd sort of protectiveness towards me after my return. He seemed to have taken on the role of 'Remy's defender and guardian'. The others were by turns amazed, angry, and amused by this turn of events. 

 

I adopted a wait-and-see attitude towards Ange, ignoring him as much as possible. Then, there he was, standing over me in the dark. He was strangely quiet and still. I expected, once he started talking, I'd hear all about my sins, followed by a speech listing the reasons I should leave this place - leave and never return. Then would come the recitation of all those who wanted me gone and why. I'd been expecting it. I'd been wrong, done unforgivable things, and deserved banishment, if not worse. 

 

"I owe you an apology," Ange announced, surprising and confusing me. 

 

"Eh?" 

 

"I... I never gave you a chance. Never got to know you - not really. I failed you. I never gave you the slightest opportunity to defend yourself during the trial. I'll never forgive myself for turning my back on you that way." 

 

It took me a minute to process his words. It was hard to believe that Ange, of all people, was actually saying this. 

"I deserved it, Ange. Should've told y'all de trut' from the beginning. Maybe if I had, if I'd tried a li'l harder, I might have fit into the group... 

 

He nodded. "You're right." He sighed. "We're both right. I believe that this may be the perfect opportunity to forgive each other and start anew." 

 

Stunned, I could only sit in silence while I considered his words. I could sense no deceit on his part; he seemed to genuinely want to make peace between us. Disinclined to look a gift Angel in the mouth, I sat quietly, waiting for him to give me a clue about where we were going and why. 

 

"Nice night," he finally said after a long and surprisingly comfortable silence. 

 

"Oui," I agreed, proceeding cautiously. 

 

"Mind if I sit?" 

 

I shifted over a bit, waving my hand at the spot I'd left empty. "Non, don' mind." 

 

As he folded himself into a sitting position beside me, Ange's wings moved up and back, out of his way. The feathers of his nearest wing brushed lightly against my shoulder, causing a faint thrill to shiver through my nerves. Without conscious thought, I raised one hand to stroke those feathers, fascinated, as I always had been, by his wings. When my mind comprehended what my fingers were up to, a flush of embarrassment stole over my face. 

 

"J's'desole, Ange," I apologized, hurriedly snatching my hand away. 

 

"Don't worry about it, Ga- Remy." The wing moved a little. Just enough so the feathers tickled all along my throat and down one side of my body. "I've seen how curious you are about them. Go ahead and touch. I don't mind." 

 

One small corner of my brain - the part not dazedly wondering about this unprecedented use of my first name - heard and processed his permission. Carefully, I explored the feathers with my fingertips, thrilled by this chance to satisfy my curiosity. 

 

Gradually, he moved forward, stretching his wing out over me as my hands moved to test the varying sensations provided by each type of feather. I found the bone structure, following its path to that spot where wing met back. He shivered when my fingers brushed the junction and I paused. 

 

"Dat hurt?" I asked in a low voice. 

 

He cleared his throat. "No. Feels good. My wings are sensitive, 'specially there." 

 

Oh? 

 

Extending each wing to maximum length, he sighed and arched his back. "Rough workout in the danger room today. I'm a little sore." 

 

"I could... give you a massage?" I cursed the hesitant way I'd voiced my request, afraid he'd think I was, well, afraid. I was, of course. I was terrified, actually. What if I revealed too much? What if this was some kind of game on his part? 

 

What if it wasn't? 

 

I rose to sit behind him and set my hands on his skin, lightly stroking the strong muscles and sinew connecting wing to back. As if in a dream, I caressed and kneaded his upper back, not quite believing that those were my hands. That my touch was not only tolerated, but welcome. I'd noticed him - of course I had. A person, male or female, would have to be blind *not* to appreciate the sheer physical beauty of the man. Never, not even for a moment, had I ever imagined that he might have noticed me in turn. 

 

"Nice," he murmured, relaxing into my touch. He sighed happily and removed his shirt. Choosing to not read anything into that - I was sure that he meant nothing overtly sexual by giving me tacit permission to touch his bare skin - I sat quietly, massaging his back. 

 

This is *Angel* I told myself. He's straight. Just wants to make peace with you, fool. Doesn't mean anything by it so get your disgusting mind outa the gutter. 

 

"Remy," he said, interrupting my internal scolding. "May I ask you a question?" 

 

"'Course, Ange." I steeled myself for an interrogation about the why's and wherefore's of my association with Sinister. 

 

"What's your relationship with Wolverine?" 

 

"Re-re-relationship?" Of all the questions I might have expected, that one had to be last, or at least in the bottom ten. "Wit' Wolvie?" 

 

He nodded. "Yes, Remy. Are you and he... you know." 

 

No, actually, I didn't know, and guessing was out of the question.. Rather than reveal my ignorance, I settled for a simple answer, "Logan's m' friend." 

 

"Not your lover?" 

 

"My *what*?" I'd always thought that old 'jaw hits the ground' line was just a literary cliche used in too many books. Wrong, wrong, wrong. "Lovers? Me an' Wolverine?" I shook my head vehemently, then realized he couldn't see me. "Non. Wolvie not m'... Non, he ain'." 

 

"Ah. Okay... May I ask you another question?" 

 

"Oui," I agreed guardedly. 

 

"Are you bi?" 

 

Doing my best impression of a guppy, I sat there, staring at his back, mouth opening and closing soundlessly. When I didn't answer, Ange shifted his weight, moving until he could see my face. 

 

"Remy?" 

 

"I... uh... oui, s'pose y' could call m' dat." 

 

"How did you - I mean, when did you figure out that you liked men as well as women?" 

 

"Knew for sure when I was sixteen. Before dat, I... wondered." 

 

"Have you had many male lovers?" 

 

"Non. Jus' de one, really. When I was sixteen. Loved him. T'ought we'd be together for a long time." I decided that giving him a list of the men I'd fucked in my attempt to push the pain of the void Philippe's death had left in my mind and heart would serve no purpose right then. 

 

"What happened?" 

 

"He died," I said a little abruptly, hoping to avoid any further questions. 

 

That served to shut him up for a time. He continued to stare at me, though, unvoiced questions clearly visible in his eyes. Eventually, he drew a deep breath and apologized for bringing up bad memories. 

 

I shrugged. "Pas de probleme." 

 

"Does Wolverine know?" 

 

"Wolvie again?" I sighed and shook my head. "Why d' y' keep askin' 'bout Wolvie?" 

 

"I... he... I don't know. He's been so protective of you since..." his words trailed away and he grimaced. "You know, since the trial and all." 

 

"Oui. Like I tol' y', he's m' friend, dat's all." 

 

"Why? I mean, I know he swings both ways, so why not?" 

 

I made an impatient sound. "'Cause I ain' his type an' he ain' mine." 

 

"What is your type?" 

 

"Ange, why y' askin' m' dese questions, eh?" 

 

"Because I think I... I, uh- " He sighed and rubbed one hand over his face. "Humor me, Remy. Okay? I do have a reason - a good one. I just don't know how to-" 

 

Taking pity on his obvious confusion, I answered him. "Don' really have a type. Philippe, de one I mentioned, was... he was blond, couple of years older dan moi, blue eyes, tanned skin... I don' know what you want to know, Ange. Phillipe was beautiful. He was m' everythin'." 

 

"How long were you together?" 

 

"Not long enough, Ange. Not nearly long enough. Mos' a year." 

 

"Has there been anyone else? Since he died?" 

 

"No one dat mattered." 

 

"No men that mattered, you mean?" 

 

Uncomfortable, I shifted and avoided his eyes. "Non. No women eit'er." 

 

"Rogue?" 

 

"Was safe. I couldn' touch her, so-" I shrugged. 

 

"Remy... do you think you could ever... ever... beinterestedinme?" 

 

Again, my jaw dropped open. I stared at him in disbelief, then looked around suspiciously. "We in some kin' o' parallel dimension, Ange?" 

 

Grinning, he shook his head. 

 

"Y' been drinkin'?" 

 

"Not a drop." 

 

"T'ought y' were straight, homme." 

 

Tilting his head back, Ange studied the night sky. "When I was younger I experimented a little. Dad sent me to very exclusive, very expensive, very, very male, boys' schools. I figured it was a phase, you know? Since college, I've concentrated on girls, but... well, lately, I've been thinking - wanting - wishing..." 

 

"An' y' wan'... what *do* you wan'?" 

 

"A chance, Remy. That's all, a chance. To get to know you. To figure out why I - well, why I'm suddenly so interested in you. I'm a little young for a mid-life crisis," he joked feebly. "I need to know if we might-" 

 

"Might?" I questioned carefully, unwilling to assume anything at this point. 

 

He fixed me with a piercing blue stare. "Have a chance at being... a couple." 

 

"A couple? You wanna...? Wit' Remy?" 

 

A solemn nod. "Yes. Exactly." 

 

"Been a long time, Ange. I... I don' know if I c'n trus' anyone dat much." 

 

"Warren." 

 

"Eh?" 

 

"My name. Warren. I'd like to hear you say my name. Please?" 

 

"Warren," I said, testing the sound. 

 

He grinned. "I like that, Remy. Thanks." Chewing on his lower lip, he regarded me. "How about if we start slowly? See what happens. No pressure. If it works, great. If not... well, we tried. At the very least, we become friends." 

 

Which meant that I would double my hand. That morning I'd had one friend - Logan. The idea that the next morning I could wake with twice that number had to be a good thing. 

 

Hesitantly, I nodded. "'Kay. Warren. How we gonna do dis?" 

 

"Thought we'd start off with something simple. Dinner out tomorrow night, maybe?" 

 

Dinner? Out? "Sooo, y' wanna - what? - date m'?" 

 

"Good a place to start as any," he said. "We need to become friends before either of us will be ready to... to move any further." 

 

A spark of the devil made me grin and tease, "I should make y' ask Logan's permission t' court m'." 

 

He chuckled, shaking his head. "You're going to lead me a merry dance, aren't you?" 

 

"Absolutement!" I promised. 

 

After grinning at me, Ange - Warren - turned, adjusting his weight until he was between my legs, leaning comfortably against my chest. "This is going to be great fun, I think." 

 

"Remy does his best, cher." 

 

He shifted restlessly until he found a comfortable position. Resting against me, head on my shoulder, he adjust those wings of his, bringing them back to wrap around my upper body. 

 

We sat there for hours that night. The time passed all too quickly as we traded stories of our youth. He told me about how it had been to grow up in his father's home. I told him about my years of living on the streets and my adoption by Jean-Luc. We told each other about our college years and compared the different paths we'd then followed. I even revealed my larcenous past. 

 

After talking for so long, we mutually decided that we'd best get a few hours of rest before we overslept and gave ol' Fearless the opportunity to lecture us about the need to attend danger room sessions as scheduled. 

 

Together, we went inside and headed up to the sleeping wing. Ever the gentleman, Warren escorted me to my room. 

 

"Tomorrow night, then?" He looked down at his watch, turning his wrist so that I could see it was after midnight. "Tonight?" he corrected himself softly as we stood outside of my door. 

 

"Oui. Remy'll be dere wit' bells on." 

 

After an uncomfortable silence, Warren grimaced. "This is ridiculous!" 

 

"What?" 

 

"I'm actually nervous about a good night kiss - at *my* age!" 

 

"Let me help, cher." Leaning forward, I held my breath and lightly pressed my lips to his. 

 

When I drew back and opened my eyes to look at him, I couldn't help but be flattered and amused. His eyes remained closed, a softness to his face I'd never seen before. And, he still held *his* breath. 

 

"Bonne nuit," I said softly, opening the door and backing into my room. 

 

"G'night, Remy." 

 

Several moments passed before I heard him retreat. 

 

Not a bad beginning, I thought. Not bad at all. Smiling to myself, I went to bed. All I had to do now was wait. 

 

For tonight. 

 

Yes... tonight.


End file.
